


Duty Bound

by Akira_of_the_Twilight



Series: Teen Wolf Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, BAMF Peter Hale, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff but Tragedy, Hunter Peter Hale, M/M, Revenge, Tragedy, Werewolf Chris Argent, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3803320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akira_of_the_Twilight/pseuds/Akira_of_the_Twilight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Theirs not to reason why/ Theirs but to do or die." - Alfred, Lord Tennyson</p><p> </p><p>The fire burned bright as the house charred and toppled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duty Bound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mysenia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysenia/gifts).



“This is all so archaic it physically hurts.” Peter pillowed his head as he laid sprawled out across the narrow dorm room bed. He’d spent the last couple of hours composing essays for his various professors as Chris—his roommate and boyfriend—wandered the college campus as he conversed with his family via phone. Conversing was putting it mildly though. Peter knew Chris and he knew the Argent Pack; there had to have been a lot of threatening, some shouting, and more threatening.

Chris grunted his agreement as he dropped down onto the foot of Peter’s bed. He grabbed Peter’s ankles and placed Peter’s feet in his lap. He rubbed circles around Peter’s ankle, interrupting the motion with a squeeze.

Peter feigned disinterest, but internally he enjoyed the attention. “So now there is a Paris to our Romeo and Juliet story of a relationship. I’m hardly worried.” Being a werewolf hunter dating a werewolf was a challenge—one that Peter took absolute glee in. Throwing in a betrothed only made the challenge more exciting.

Chris snorted, a sound that was a combination of disbelief and amusement. His lips curled into a soft, subtle smiled that always managed to send a pleasant warmth through Peter.

Peter sat up, pressing a kiss to Chris’ cheek as he smiled. “Besides, neither one of us is stupid enough to drink poison willingly.”

Chris turned his head toward Peter, but leaned away so there lips didn’t touch. “And what about the incident with the ghost six months ago?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Special circumstance.” He captured Chris mouth was his own.

* * *

 

Stiles was utter chaos.

The boy was always flailing and spouting off a mixture of nonsense and brilliance that forced Peter to pay attention to every word Stiles’ said.

He was son to the alpha of the Stilinski pack, and he lacked all the decorum that should have come along with the position.

When Peter first met Stiles it was during a formal introduction—the Stilinski Pack meeting with the Hale Hunters to explain their presence in Argent territory and ask for permission to move about the town freely.

The meeting almost ended in flames because Stiles knocked over a candle when gesticulating.

During their second meeting, Peter had stayed beside Chris the entire time and had planted a possessive kiss on Chris’ lips.

Stiles merely smiled and talked about nuclear physics. He chatted freely about how was working with his best friend Lydia to make a bomb just to see if they could.

The reaction floored Peter. By the tensing of Chris’ shoulders, Peter could knew Chris was equally surprised.

* * *

“The subject of this paper is so asinine I can’t even bring myself to edit it, and I’m the genius who wrote the paper.” Peter huffed and pushed his laptop away. He was seated next Chris at their usual spot in the library.

Chris was dutifully ignoring him by burying his face in a book.

Peter was about to hook his foot around the leg of Chris’ chair and drag his boyfriend closer.

“I can look it over,” Stiles piped up from across the table. Since the Stilinskis had entered Argent territory, Stiles and Chris had been pressured to mingle. The two had agreed to study together three times a week. The original plan had been two days a week (once at Stiles’ college, and once at Chris’), but Stiles’ had fallen in love with the library at Chris’ college.

Peter was frozen in surprise at Stiles’ offer.

Chris peered over his book.

Stiles rolled his eyes, and yanked Peter’s laptop toward him. “C’mon on, it’s not like we’re contestants in a beauty pageant; I’m not going to sabotage you. I edit for my buddy Scott all the time.”

Peter looked to Chris. With Chris’ heightened hearing he could tell if Stiles’ was lying by the sound of the boy’s heartbeat.

Chris paused then nodded.

Peter eyed Stiles then smirked. “All right, Stiles. Do a good job, and I might allow you to edit all of my papers.”

Stiles snorted tersely. “If only I would be so lucky. Just catching these brief glimpses of your supreme intelligence makes me quake with adoration and awe.”

Peter beamed at Chris. “I like him; let’s keep him.”

Chris chuckled.

* * *

Chris was falling for Stiles.

It wasn’t overt, but Peter had been with Chris long enough to recognize when his boyfriend was developing feelings for someone.

He spent more time with Stiles, always smiling as he did so. He joined Stiles in whatever activity the boy asked him to partake in, even if it was spending three hours baking brownies because the communal oven was broken and they had to guess how long it would take for the treats to cook. In return, Chris started inviting Stiles along on border patrol and sparring. Furtive glances were exchanged, and Peter did not miss the way sometimes they would pin each other down longer than necessary during their wrestling matches.

Anyone else would have been insecure, but Peter would have been a hypocrite if he allowed himself to feel such an emotion. Stiles matched him wit for wit, always keeping Peter on his toes. He also saw things from such a different angle that more times than not Stiles ended up solving problems faster than Peter.

Add in that Stiles had a tight ass and plush lips, and Peter was done for, which was why after weeks of Stiles’ presence, Peter pinned Chris down one evening, ravished him thoroughly, and then just as Chris was one the brink of ecstasy, whispered a plan for Stiles’ in Chris’ ear.

Chris had never come harder in his life.

* * *

“You seem a little off today.” Stiles grinned ear to ear as he lunged at Peter.

Peter bent at the knees and used Stiles’ momentum to throw the werewolf off him. “So sad. What does that say about your abysmal combat skills if even on a day I appear distracted you cannot land a single blow?”

Stiles rolled into a crouch, his smile still in place as he eyed Peter. There was a spark of calculation in his eyes.

Chris stood off to the sidelines, arms folded over his chest and a tiny smirk on his lips. He knew exactly what Peter had planned for Stiles today and was enjoying the knowledge, even if a part of him was doubtful. Chris was always doubtful until all plans played out—he had enough experience to know even the best schemes could go awry.

“One blow, Peter. That’s all I need to finish you,” Stiles taunted.

Peter quirked an eyebrow. “You’ll find I am not that easy,” he purred.

Stiles frowned, having sensed a double meaning in Peter’s words. When realization caught up to him, Stiles’ attention snapped to Chris, guilt and fear consuming his features.

Peter struck.

He lashed out at Stiles, seizing Stiles’ by the throat and throwing all of his weight into the younger man so Stiles fell to the ground. Peter straddled him and placed a knife to Stiles’ throat. “You’re dead, Stiles.”

Stiles flushed in annoyance. He huffed, letting his head fall back in defeat. “Fine, whatever.” He waited a beat. His lips curled in a frown when Peter did not get off of him right away. He raised his head. “Okay, you won. You can _get off_ now.” Stiles squirmed under Peter.

Peter cocked his head to the side. “Is that what you’re trying to do with your wiggling?”

Stiles’ face burned red like a fire truck. He froze. “What! I wasn’t—“ His eyes went to Chris, who was headed toward the them. Stiles swore. He undulated his hips with enough force that Peter was flung off.

Peter had just enough grace and instinct to roll into the movement and land on all fours beside Stiles, whose chest was heaving in a panic.

Stiles raised his hands up in a show of defenselessness.

Chris kept his face purposefully blank as he strolled closer.

“I swear I didn’t mean to come on to your mate. I didn’t even realize what I was saying! And as for the smell coming off me, come on! I just had a sexy guy pressed up against my dick; you can’t blame me! Aw crap, I just said ‘sexy,’ didn’t I? Listen, that’s not what I—”

Chris shut Stiles up with a kiss.

Stiles froze, but the reason behind the paralysis was obviously caused by shock instead of fear, which was indicated by his wide brown eyes and slack jaw.

Chris pulled away, his knowing smirk back in place.

Stiles gaped.

Peter slid his hand up Stiles’ thigh, drawing Stiles’ attention to him. “How do you feel about sharing, Stiles?”

* * *

Truthfully, Peter had never been one to share. It had caused many feuds between him and his older sister Talia as children.

Sharing Chris and Stiles was the exception though, and a glorious one at that.

It didn’t even feel like sharing, because he really wasn’t.

They were his, and no else’s.

* * *

“I need your expertise,” Talia stated.

Peter looked up from his phone where he had been texting Chris to keep himself distracted by his insipid and grating family. After months of little to no contact with his family, Talia had called him and told him he was required to attend a family dinner that weekend. Peter had considered rebelling; he had made plans with his boyfriends that included sparring followed by making out and sex. He stopped himself from indulging in his own self-interests because of the tone in his sister’s voice when she’d called. It had been subtle, but he’d picked up a hint of bitterness; she hadn’t wanted to call him. Something had forced her hand.

Since Talia had become the head of the family, there was little that could put her in such a position.

Satisfaction curled in Peter’s chest as he powered down his phone. He took a quick sweep of the room to make certain the younger members of the Hale clan were out of earshot. “And what would you have me do?”

Talia slipped a small square sheet of paper out of her pocket. “A pack of werewolves arrived some time ago and have overstayed their welcome.”

Peter took the slip of paper, and skimmed the address. “And what pray tell have they done to bring down the wrath of the Hales? Kill a pedestrian? Turn a poor, clueless teenager?”

“Does it matter?” Talia’s cheeks puffed with indignation.

Sadistic delight warmed Peter’s heart. “Oh, but sister, you have always been so fond of the code. Has it grown too chaffing?”

Talia glared.

Peter chuckled, tearing up the address. “I’ll get the job done, but always remember this as the moment when you placed yourself under the sword of Damocles, and at any moment I may chose to drop it on you.”

Talia’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t a say a word.

Peter chuckled and strolled out of the Hale house, ignoring his youngest niece as she called out to him.

* * *

The fire burned bright as the house charred and toppled.

Peter stood far away, watching as the smoke billowed into the sky.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

Peter turned his back on the destruction.

Now it was just a matter of getting the proper paperwork filed. In a few hours, the fire would be written off as an accident caused by a gas leak, and no one would be the wiser.

* * *

Once Peter finished covering his trail, he pulled out his phone. Dozens of messages and voicemails filled the screen of the device. The first few were from Stiles and were hours old. Chris’ messages and phones calls soon flittered in with Stiles’ until Chris’ were the only ones in the most recent section of his phone.

Peter frowned. He skimmed through his text messages. There were no details, just pleas for Peter to call his two boyfriends back.

He briefly wondered if the two of them had known the pack that had been decimated.

Guilt squeezed his heart, but it was so brief Peter barely had time to acknowledge it. Chris and Stiles’ packs had been informed of the rules regarding werewolves in Beacon Hills. If they or the alphas had known about an unannounced pack in town, and not informed the Hales or had not encouraged the pack to announce themselves, then they were equally responsible for the pack’s demise.

Peter didn’t bother with listening to the voicemails. Chris’ last text had asked Peter to come to their dorm room, so Peter would do just that.

When he arrived he was paralyzed in the doorway by the sight of Stiles curled up in Chris’ arms and bawling. Stiles’ cheeks were soaked and stained red by tears. The sleeve of his shirt was covered in snot where he had wiped his nose.

Peter slammed the door behind him.

He kneeled in front of Stiles, grabbed Stiles’ face between his hands, wiped away a stray tear. “What happened?” The thought that the werewolves had been friends to his two boyfriends returned, and suddenly Peter couldn’t shake the terrible feeling of remorse that clawed into his intestines.

Stiles shuddered. He opened his mouth to answer, but the sobs took control.

Peter hissed through his teeth and dragged Stiles’ into his embrace. He turned to Chris, silently demanding answers.

“His pack…” Chris couldn’t complete the sentence. The blood had drained from his face, and his hands were quaking with emotion.

Peter’s insides turned into the icy tundra.

He tightened his hold on Stiles.

He gritted his teeth and buried his face into Stiles’ shoulder. “I will fix this.”

* * *

 

It was two days after the fire, and Talia had decided it was time for her son Derek’s first test as a hunter. He would be captured and bound to chair and left in a forgotten shack in the woods until he could break free from his bindings. Derek’s sister, Laura, would wait by the shack to monitor and time his escape.

Peter had joined Talia in the kidnapping process, and had even taken in some delight as he watched the realization form on his nephew’s face when Talia pulled the sack off his head and explained the test, although, she didn’t mention anything about Laura being nearby.

Peter followed his sister out of the shack and watched as his sister reminded Laura of her instructions. He stayed by his sister’s side as they trudged through the woods.

“I truly hope Laura is ready to take your place as head of the family,” Peter said.

Talia turned her head to look at him. She opened her mouth to speak.

Peter slammed his fist over her mouth and rammed his knife into her gut. He sliced vertical then sideways to ensure her organs were damaged beyond repair.

Talia screamed into his palm. She aimed a punch at him, but Peter released his hold on the knife and seized her wrist. He twisted it until the bones and tendons snapped.

Talia howled in pain, kicking at him, but Peter felt nothing.

“You had welcomed the Stilinski Pack.” There was no malice or anger as Peter spoke, just fact. “You betrayed them. You tricked me.” He threw Talia to the ground.

Talia gasped for breath. She tried to scramble away, but her wound had weakened her considerably. She reached for the knife still lodged in his gut, but Peter kicked her hands away and grabbed the weapon.

“The packs would have been too strong with the alliance. We had not anticipated the size of the Stilinski pack. We had only met a handful of the pack that day. _They_ lied to us.”

Peter didn’t care. He plunged the knife into Talia and twisted.

Talia seized in agony. Blood dribbled down her mouth. She clutched Peter’s shirt and tried to headbutt him.

He watched as the life slowly bled out of his sister.

He dropped the knife just as Laura’s screams filled his ears in the distance.

* * *

“Peter, why? Why would you—? How could you?” Stiles asked from behind the bulletproof glass that separated them.

Chris stood behind Stiles, knuckles white as he clutched Stiles’ shoulders.

Peter smiled at his two loves, finding simple pleasure in the fact that they would visit him during his trial.

“Peter,” Chris whispered softly, his voice a tad hoarse.

Peter propped his chin on his hand, not minding the way the cuffs cut into the wrist of his other hand. He beamed. “I fixed it.”


End file.
